


Narrative

by is_this_thing_anon



Category: Little Women (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Sharing a Bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/is_this_thing_anon/pseuds/is_this_thing_anon
Summary: "Would you like me to finish the story, or are you going to continue interrupting until the bath goes completely cold?"
Relationships: Jo March/Valkyrie
Comments: 13
Kudos: 9
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	Narrative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



“The dashing hero grieved the loss of his hair, yet found himself determined as ever to find a way back home to rescue his people,” she reads emphatically, careful not to let the bottom of the page dip into bathwater. 

Her audience snorts in response, much to her chagrin.

“I’ve seen that man suck spilled beer out of his pants. He’s not that dashing.”

Their knees jut out of the water between them, twin spots of chilled skin that make the heat of the bath feel all the more luxurious, although not particularly spacious. The tub wasn’t meant for two; but Jo has long since learned not to care about words like ‘meant to’ and ‘untoward,’ except as they were needed to describe her characters. 

Surely if she cared about such things in her regular life, she never would have met her current companion.

“At least, I hope that was beer,” Valkyrie adds, frowning briefly.

Jo tips her head back against the curved rim of the tub, licking her lips. “He can be both dashing and mildly disgusting,” she objects. “It makes for a more complex character.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“As you should.”

Valkyrie grins at her across the bath, nudging at her hip with one foot. “Go on, then.”

Jo obliges. “But our hero was in for a most welcome and unwelcome surprise when he entered the arena, primed for battle. For his adversary was none other than _The Beast_.” She pauses for effect, which is immediately ruined -

“Yeah, and then he got his ass kicked.”

Jo glowers over the top of her page. 

“And then he succumbed to _vile treachery_ , you mean, at the hands of the depraved sovereign. Would you like me to finish the story, or are you going to continue interrupting until the bath goes cold?”

Jo feels Valkyrie loop a hand over her ankle, her thumb ribbing circles over the sensitive skin. The hand starts to drift upwards, cupping the back of her calf, then rounding her leg to tickle over the front of her knee. 

“I’d say that depends.”

“On?”

She can feel her thighs shivering in response, the rapidly cooling water dripping from Valkyrie’s fingertips hitting her knee in a wholly unpredictable staccato. 

She marvels at the thought that there had once been a time, years ago, when she hadn’t realized that a person could make her pulse quicken in almost (but not quite) the same way she felt in the midst of a writing frenzy - the same need to rush blindly onwards at full speed while at the same time wishing desperately to stretch the feeling out into eternity, so it would never have to end.

“Mostly on you, Lady March.”

Jo tips her chin upwards. 

“I’m not a lady.”

“Glad to hear it. Neither am I.”  
  



End file.
